


Little Victories

by AzureTiger



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Natasha Romanov, De-Serumed Steve Rogers, F/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28599075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureTiger/pseuds/AzureTiger
Summary: When Steve is taken captive by hostiles, it's Natasha's job to rescue him. What she finds may complicate things.Sometimes you have to strip away the soldier to get to the man beneath.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 18
Kudos: 93





	Little Victories

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for a while now, and it took me longer to write than I expected! Very interested to hear your thoughts.
> 
> Thanks for the feedback!

A call comes that day which frankly, Natasha never expected; the mission itself is not unlike what Fury usually gives her, but the target of rescue is definitely a surprise.

“Rogers went missing a few hours ago,” Fury explains calmly, but Natasha has known him long enough to catch the slightest hint of worry in his voice. “He didn’t make the checkpoint. Meet me at headquarters in twenty minutes.”

At first, Natasha was hesitant about bringing Steve on as a SHIELD agent, but her opinion of him changed rapidly after working with him a few times. Despite the respect she quickly developed toward him during the  Chitauri incident, she wasn’t so sure he would make a good spy.

Steve Rogers is not a spy, but he is smart, fast, and an exceptional learner. He quickly graduated from tagging along as back-up, to leading full-scale operations on his own. Natasha has of course encountered many large men who can handle themselves, but she hadn’t expected Steve to be so graceful. Not after just a few short lessons with her, at least. It had been clear to her that he hadn’t had much formal training, and she had taken that upon herself to fix. Steve Rogers is her most dedicated pupil; her  _ only _ pupil, but she’ll be damned if there’s anyone as studious as he is.

She likes him, she really does; his soft smile and his bright eyes and the way he clutches his chest when he laughs at a particularly filthy joke that Clint’s just made, one that was told with the hopes of making him blush. It is very easy to make the good Captain blush, but he knows a lot more than people think he does, about people, and about the world. He may look like a big, dopey blonde, but Natasha knows how smart he is. She wouldn’t trust him as much as she does if  he weren’t.

The question on her mind as she drives is; how the hell did anyone manage to actually kidnap him? Aside from being physically massive, Steve is tricky to catch, as agile and slippery as an eel. He’s also so strong that if anyone actually did manage to grab him, then they wouldn’t be able to hold on for long. He’s immune to drugs, so they couldn’t have just gassed him.

So how did they get him? Her first question is closely followed by a second, more urgent concern which blinks behind her eyes as she weaves through traffic – is he okay? Did they hurt him? She hopes not. He’s gone through enough already. Something protective flares up inside her as she parks the car and strides into the building, restraining herself from running. Steve is  _ her _ protégé.

Fury is waiting on the landing pad when she arrives, escorting her up the jet ramp. “We’re still not fully sure of the situation,” he says as the ramp closes. “Rogers could be in enemy hands, or he might be stranded somewhere without communication. We have no way or knowing.”

“His tracker isn’t working?” Natasha asks, sliding into the co-pilot's seat.

“The feed cut out shortly after it started glitching,” Fury says, lifting the jet off the runway and into the sky.

A lot of things can cause those issues, such as bad weather or buildings made of materials that block the signals. SHIELD has the best tech available, but sometimes not even the most high-powered signal can pierce through the deepest bunker buried under layers and layers of concrete and steel. Or, the  tracker is destroyed.

“What was his mission?” Natasha asks.

“Simple recon,” Fury replies. “I sent him to investigate where I thought the scepter could be being kept.”

“Why Rogers? We have better stealth agents,” she questions evenly. It’s no shame to Steve’s abilities, but he’s still a soldier, regardless of his broadening skill set. He’s still not a spy, and this sounds like a spy’s kind of job.

“The risk factor was too high. I was worried things might go south.”

“Then why send him at all?” When a mission goes wrong, it’s not just the agents that might suffer, but it can also make it even more difficult to complete that mission later; black-market sellers hide themselves deeper, buyers are more hesitant to reach out, and the more violent enemies can go silent for years before resurfacing, all because they caught a whiff of someone on their tail.

“This is the only openings we’ve had in months,” Fury replies, matching her calm. “We weighed it up, and decided the risk was worth it.”

“You know Rogers does feel pain, right?” she fixes the director with stare, suddenly driven to challenge him. She knows he cares, deep down, but does he truly understand that Steve is a man of flesh and blood, regardless of the serum in his veins that renders him (at least so far) indestructible? Physically, at least – Natasha knows that Steve suffers emotionally.

Fury doesn’t rise to the jab. “Yes, I know. But he knows as well as anyone that risks are sometimes necessary, and he makes some of those risks manageable. He can walk off what would kill other agents. He saves a lot of lives, Natasha.”

“I know,” she responds casually. Oh, she knows. She knows how many people he saves, and she knows it will never be enough for him, because she’s caught him beating himself up over those he couldn’t. Fury is right though, about how much good Steve does. Missions that would have been deemed impossible are suddenly feasible if you throw Captain America at them.

“I understand your concern,” Fury softens the barest amount as he briefly looks away from the sky to make eye contact with her. “But he wants this. You know how restless he gets. The last thing I want is for him to feel like he’s trapped at home.”

Steve needs to be out in the field making a difference, Natasha knows this too – that’s what he’s made for, helping people, throwing everything he has toward making a difference for people who can’t defend themselves. He’s one of the kindest people she’s ever met. “I know,” she says again, having nothing else to add. Steve’s a big boy, and he can take care of himself, at least for the most part. In a fight. But outside of that...? Would he ever ask for time off if he needed it? Would he know if he  _ did _ need it?

Unlikely. Steve isn’t one to take breaks, not in the year and a half since she’s known him. She wonders if he’s even capable of stopping, if the serum lets him truly rest. If only she knew him better, she might be able to say. And really, she wishes she did. It’s easier to stay safe when you keep your distance, to stop other people from finding out your dark secrets, but she’s sort of... over that. Getting there, at least. Everyone has red in their ledger. Maybe not Russian-assassin-red, but red all the same. Steve’s human, so  surely he’s got some. Besides, she severely doubts that he would think less of her no matter what he found out about her – it's just not in his nature.

The rest of the flight is quiet, and she spends her time going over all the information Fury gives her about the location and the possible occupants inside and nearby. Steve was sent to investigate a dilapidated castle in the French countryside that had reportedly shown sudden signs of activity shortly after one of the black-market dealers they’d been tracking had entered the country. A little more investigation found that the place is likely filled with dozens of well-armed enemies, and potentially Loki’s missing scepter based on some scans. All of it is too nefarious to ignore.

On the way, Fury does a fly-over with the heat-seeking cameras on, hoping to find Steve that way, but the surrounding area is clear of people.

Natasha makes sure all her gear is strapped on properly and stands by the ramp, waiting for the go-ahead to jump down into darkness. The ramp hisses open as they approach the target, and Natasha tightens the straps of her parachute, pulling on her night-vision goggles and launching herself out. Fury soars away and leaves her on her own.

The forest around the castle is chattering with night life, the perfect cover for the slight rustle of the parachute as she lands delicately in the foliage. She undoes the straps and leaves it behind, picking her way through the underbrush until she reaches the edge. The castle lies close by, silent, patrolled by guards. There are probably cameras set up around the perimeter, but she can’t make out where they are from here. Cautiously, Natasha walks around the building, keeping to the forest as she scopes out the best way in. The front door, she reckons. Natasha finds a break in the patrol, leaving her a few seconds to scamper across the grass and inside the half-crumbled archway to take cover. Best to leave as many people alive as she can so as not to raise alarm, at least until Rogers is safely recovered.

Inside the main wall, there are two guards stationed outside the door, both holding automatic weapons. The door itself is made of what looks to be strong steel; whoever took over this place did a good job outfitting it for modern times.

Well, the windows look accessible, and you can’t stand guards outside of those. Not when they’re many, many floors above-ground. Natasha darts along the outer wall, melding with a shadow and holding still when two more guards walk past. She carries on unnoticed and pulls out her grappling hook, firing into the stone just beside a ledge and clipping the cable to her belt. With a hop, she lands her boots quietly on the wall and runs up the side. Before the guards cycle below her, she’s already perched on the ledge, winding the cable back into the gun and holstering it. Out comes a knife, which she slips under the window to nudge open the latch – security measures are severely loosened up here. Natasha sheathes her knife, opens the window, and hops off the ledge.

Inside the room is dark except for the moonlight shining through. Natasha carefully shuts the window and looks around for enemies as she pads arounds boxes full of paperwork. She dismisses them for now and tucks herself by the doorframe, slowly turning the handle while she listens into the hallway.

The area is quiet. Natasha slides around the door and shuts it behind her, quickly finding the winding staircase leading to the lower floors. If they have Steve, he could be anywhere, so she pokes her head into each floor and searches as necessary.

Whoever has taken up residency here is only part-way finished moving in, but the decoration is coming along well enough that she can basically tell what each room is for. There are spaces for administration tasks, containing a few people in collared shirts hunched over computers. She easily sneaks past them and carries on her way. Other sections are reserved for scientific purposes, full of equipment that looks complicated and expensive. Natasha doesn’t like the look of any of it, but she’s not here for that, she’s here for Steve. Steve might not have time for her to snoop around.

Dodging patrols and other personnel, Natasha works her way down to the lower floors flawlessly. Security is tight, but the Black Widow is better than these goons. She sneaks her way into the basement, growing more anxious as the area grows dimmer and dingier. It feels like she’s entered another century; stretching in front of her are rows and rows of stone cells, closed off behind wooden doors reinforced with steel bars. It only takes a quick glance to notice that only one of those doors is locked. Natasha runs toward it and peers expectantly through the small barred window. 

She expects to see Steve’s bulky body, but instead is met with what looks like a child, thin wrists tightly cuffed to the wall and too-big clothes hanging off a bony frame. His head is hanging and he’s slumped in his chains, so small and sick-looking that she hardly recognizes him.

Natasha recognizes Steve a lot faster than she might have thought given that he looks the complete antithesis of what she’s used to, but she second-guesses herself, though she rushes to pick the padlock anyway.

At the sound of clicking and the creak of the door, Steve visibly tenses, but he doesn’t look up. Not until Natasha opens her mouth, at least. “Steve,” she breathes, quietly shutting the door behind her and running to his side.

Immediately, he lifts his head to look her in the eyes, and she stalls for a moment because although she knows those eyes all too well, she’s stricken by how sick he looks. Of course, having read his report before ever meeting him, she knows what he used to look like before the serum – coming face-to-face with it is different though, especially after knowing big-Steve for so long. Did he ever look this sick in the photos she’s seen of him? Never this bruised at least... There’s a huge bruise on the side of his face, the skin torn around his eye socket. There are even more bruises around his wrists and down his arms, disappearing under the baggy sleeves of his scuffed shirt. Even the bottoms of feet  are bruised.

“Nat,” he croaks, pulling himself sitting a bit straighter with his arms and wincing as he does so. He coughs and she stills him.

“Easy,” she says, taking to the first cuff with her tools. These ancient, bulky cuffs are the easiest locks she’s ever had to pick. Steve quickly wraps his arm around his ribs the minute it’s free, shivering and looking at the floor. Natasha hops over his legs to work on the second cuff, glancing down at him. “Are you hurt?” she asks worriedly. Even hard punches are worth little against Captain America, but Steve looks like even a light smack would knock him off balance.

Steve shakes his head quietly, nudging away her helping hands once he’s free, insisting he stand up by himself. Respectfully, Natasha pulls back and lets him fend for himself, hoping that he’ll tell her if something is genuinely wrong. Apart from his sudden lack of size, of course. The shock of it is still stalling her from thinking too much about how this could have happened.

Desperately stubborn and proud, Steve pushes himself up the wall and rubs his face, shivering in the insufficient clothing doing little to protect his bony body against the draft swirling through the basement level. He can stand up on his own at the very least, and apart from the bruising, appears unhurt. Natasha refrains from asking him to lift his shirt so she can make certain. This is probably a lot for him.

“Where’s your suit? And your shield?” she asks, walking back to the door and peering through. The coast is still clear, but who knows how long that will last. As much as she respects her co-worker, she knows he’s more likely to be a liability than a help if they do get found.

Steve folds his arms over his chest and walks up beside her, his presence strangely small. He’s barely an inch taller than she is, and definitely weighs less. “Dunno. Didn’t exactly fit after... well...” He looks at his feet, and she looks back at him to see that his teeth are gritted.

“What did they do to you?” she asks calmly. It’s not usual for her to feel these softer, more maternal urges, but she finds herself fighting back a gentler tone, knowing Steve would rather be treated as she always has treated him. Natasha knows she would want the same.

“I don’t really remember,” Steve admits, glancing up at her only to quickly look away, trying to straighten himself out a bit more. “They drugged me, somehow, and when I woke  up I was here. Like this.” He huffs and gestures to his body with his head. A cough bubbles in his throat and he does his best to stifle it with his arm.

Natasha quickly nudges the door shut again and draws him away from it, wrapping him in her arm protectively while she undoes her jacket with the other. “Are you alright?” she asks, but he’s pushing away from her before she can finish, holding up his hand to keep some distance between them while he coughs a couple more times.

Steve recovers. “Fine,” he snaps, panting into his arm and flashing her a look of bright vehemence. Natasha is smart enough to know it’s not aimed at her, but it does hurt a little; they’ve known each other for a while now, been friends on and off the battlefield, saved each other’s lives several times, and taken care of each other. Steve has certainly taken care of her, being the more robust of the two. He’s given her stitches, rubbed cream on her skin when she burned herself on a rougher mission, and made her dinner when she was tired. She’s even fallen asleep around him, drifting off on the sofa only to wake up tucked into bed the next morning, Steve sleeping on the couch in her place. He’s a gentleman, kind and respectful of her boundaries, understanding of her own needs to be self-sufficient, because he’s got that need too. And she can see where it probably started, because the beginnings of Captain America are here, all skin and bone and spirit. She can see that he’s perturbed, scared even, and definitely frustrated, but not completely down-trodden, not even with his added bruises and his obvious physical discomfort. Captain America will always keep going.

They stare at each other for a moment, Natasha halfway out of her jacket, and Steve still catching his breath. Finally, he looks at his feet and rubs his nose.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry, I just...”

She doesn’t give him a chance to wallow, not wanting him to cling to his guilt as she knows he’s prone to, and quite capable of doing. He cares too much to simply let himself get away with being rude, but she doesn’t mind. Natasha smiles and shrugs off her jacket, wrapping it around his shoulders. “Put it on,” she orders. “Fury will come and pick us up on the other side of the forest.”

That gets his attention. Steve looks up hastily, his fear more obvious. “No,” he blurts. “They still have my shield. They...”

“Better that than your life, Steve,” she replies evenly. She doesn’t want to give him orders as his superior, given that they’re basically equals in terms of rank within SHIELD, but she will if she has to. This is her mission. “We need to get out of here while we can. Fury will know what to do.” She places a hand on his shoulder, keeping her grip light but ready to drag him with her if she has to.

Steve resists, leaning back but otherwise not trying to brush off her hand or escape it. “Whatever they used to make me like this is still here,” he reasons, and by the end of the sentence he’s using his Captain’s voice. He sounds just as he does when he’s making plans with her, or giving orders on the field: calm, reasonable, insightful. Wise. God, sometimes she forgets how young he is... He reminds her of that as a pleading tone seeps into his voice. “Please,” he stares at her. “Natasha, please.”

_ Goddammit... You and your puppy-dog eyes... _ Steve looks no less like a puppy now than he has in the past when he’s used his big blue eyes to his advantage. She’s seen him pull off the kicked-puppy pout when tactically necessary, and the effect is only added to by the fact that he actually looks like someone’s kicked him. Repeatedly. How can she turn that down?  _ Black Widow, slayer of men, tamer of desires. Oh god, I’m slipping... _ She sighs and submits, turning to face him. “Okay,” she agrees. “But you follow my orders, alright? No heroics. You stay down, and you stay behind me. Fury will kill me if you get shot.”  _ What if the damage was irreparable, even if we somehow turn you back? What if you died? _ No, she’s not sure she could cope with that. Maybe after years of therapy, but it would ruin her.

To her relief, he nods, though she knows it might not be worth much coming from him, the least-likely person to hide during a fight. Natasha just hopes he’ll remember that his body isn’t what it was when he’s pulled the  stunts she’s seen him get away with. She nods back.

“Good,” she says, “we’ll look around.”

Steve deflates with relief, but only for a brief moment before he fills back up with the determination she knows him for. He puts his arms through the sleeves of her jacket and zips it up, limping after her while he squints into the shadows. To Natasha’s relief, he sticks close and lets her lead.

Natasha has a vague idea of where to go from her brief glance into each floor on the way down. She walks out of the cell and looks around, mapping their path, mindful that Steve’s legs are shorter, and his stamina is almost non-existent. How do you drain Captain America? Magic, a time machine? It’s a shame Steve doesn’t remember, because otherwise they’re probably going to need Tony and Bruce’s help to bring him back to the way he was, would probably need them even if Steve  _ could _ remember. And that’s if it’s  _ possible _ to revert him... Natasha doesn’t want to think about what will happen, for Steve’s sake, if this is permanent.

For now, ‘why’ is not a question, something that pondering will only take from the more important concerns. Fix Steve now, bother with the details later. Natasha compartmentalizes and devotes all her focus to their plan. The longer they spend here, the more likely they are to be caught, and Natasha doesn’t like the idea of what these people could do to Steve’s frail body. Steve with the serum was still human, still felt pain, but at least he had his endurance and his healing factor to protect him. Without it, no amount of toughness will protect Steve against the tortures Natasha knows men are capable of inflicting. She’s learnt some of those methods herself, how to inflict and to endure. Steve doesn’t have that sort of training.

Carefully, Natasha leads Steve up a flight of stairs and out of the basement, looking left and right while she listens for approaching enemies. Steve is keeping up just fine, staying at her hip and watching their surroundings too. His body is hunched, but it’s hard to say if that’s because he’s cold, in pain, or allowing her to shield him. Maybe some combination of the three.

The shield could be anywhere, so Natasha ducks by the first door they see, and tends to the lock. The old castle doorways have been fitted with more modern doors, bolted into the stone with strong hinges and locked with advanced mechanisms. It looks to be activated by some sort of key card. Luckily, SHIELD makes good toys (extra good now that Tony is more involved with their design), so a simple card-swipe-activated lock is no problem for the device she pulls from her belt. The red light flashed green with a soft beep, and the lock clicks open. Natasha nudges the door open and raises her gun, scanning the shadows for any occupants before bringing Steve in with her and shutting the door behind them.

Steve starts to move away to search the room, but she grabs his arm and keeps him at her side, unwilling to be separated for even a moment in case someone bursts in. Maybe she would allow him to stray from her otherwise, but his eyes and ears don’t work as well as they did; that much is clear by his squinting, and the way he turns his left ear toward her when she speaks, watching her lips as he does so. His jaw is clenched, but he says nothing.

Natasha lets go and scopes the room. It appears to be a locker room of some sorts, weapons and other gear hung up on racks or stored on shelves, some changing benches in between the rows of lockers. Not the sort of place where a  vibranium shield would be kept, but the right place to get Steve some shoes. She leads him into the shelving and holds her gun at the ready while she searches with her eyes for footwear. Anything will do, so long as it’s the right size. A glance down tells her that Steve’s feet are on the smaller side, but they aren’t abnormally small. She’s seen larger men with smaller feet.

They cruise the aisles in silence until Natasha finds a couple of pairs of boots that looks close enough to his size, handing them over along with some socks. Steve sits on the nearest bench and puts on the socks, then proceeds to try on the boots. The second pair fit, and he laces them over the hem of his pants.

Steve stands and tests them, then looks up at her. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

“Of course,” she replies. “Here, you should have this too.” She hands him a belt and walks around the aisle to the wall behind, selecting a gun and some magazines from the selection. Regardless of his physical stature, Steve is just as capable of firing a gun.

Steve threads the belt through the loops of his too-big pants and cinches it up, taking the gun when she hands it to him and holstering it. He nods at her that he’s ready, and she returns it, looking away before she’s temped to ask him if he’s alright – she can’t help but be worried about how pale he is, or how badly the bruise on his face has developed. But Steve is alert and ready to fight, his hand resting on his weapon and his eyes continuing to scan for enemies. Perhaps she’s underestimating him.  _ Better that than letting you get killed because I wasn’t careful enough, _ she reminds herself as she walks back toward the door and presses herself beside it, peering through the window into the hallway. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in him, but more that she doesn’t trust him to know where his boundaries are. How could anyone be expected to adjust immediately to a situation like this? It would take anyone a little while. What if Steve forgets he isn’t three-hundred pounds of muscle and throws himself into a fight he can’t win?

_ I can apologize to him later when we’re both out of here _ , she tells herself as she leads her companion back into the hallways, and back on the hunt for his lost belongings.  _ Better a rustled  _ _ Steve _ _ than a dead Steve. _

While the basement was nearly empty, the upper floors only become more populated as they move up. They’re only on the second floor, but already they have to keep a closer watch on how people are moving, making sure there is plenty of cover to dart behind. The castle hallways are full of unpacked equipment stored in boxes and crates, people in a variety of uniforms walking in and out of rooms. Some are wearing lab coats, others in tactical gear. One or two are dressed in suits, speaking to each other as they walk past. Natasha brings Steve behind a stack of crates and ducks down to listen to their conversation as they pass.

“ _ The serum is ready for transport, _ " one of the men is saying in French. “ _ The buyer is prepared to receive it tomorrow morning. Have the truck ready by eight am. _ "

“ _ Yes, sir, _ " the other responds, and the two men keep walking.

Natasha looks back at Steve, and by the look of concern and determination on his face, she concludes that he hasn’t lost his array of languages along with the serum.  _ We’ll get it back, _ she mouths to him, and he firms his jaw resolutely. For a moment, the look in his eyes makes her forget that he isn’t six feet tall.

Wherever the serum is being sent can’t be good. Bad people will do bad things with it, make their own super-soldier, perhaps even find a way to replicate the formula and make a super-soldier army. And the farther that serum gets from here, the harder it will be to get it back again. Steve’s right – they shouldn’t leave without trying to get it back if a safe opportunity arises. If they must, they can always slip a tracker in with the serum and retrieve it later when they have more guns and a better plan. But letting it leave is unwise, because they might not see it again until it’s too late.

Within the information they’ve intercepted is another  crucial element: the serum has been extracted, therefore there’s a chance they can give it back to Steve where it belongs.

Natasha waits for the hallway to clear before she guides them both out of their hiding place and down a bit further where they can hide in an empty room. This one has been turned into an office, a large desk placed by window, and a few bottles of exotic liquors arranged on an old bookshelf. Natasha shuts the door behind them and presses herself against the wall beside it so she can watch through the window, and Steve follows suit, standing on the opposite side of the frame. They look over at each other.

“We have to find the serum first,” Natasha reasons.

Steve nods his agreement immediately, his eyes glued to hers and his expression worryingly focused. “Natasha,” he says. “If it comes down to it, I need you to destroy the serum.”

It makes sense as a tactical play, and maybe under other circumstances she’d have agreed, but today she hesitates. “Steve, it won’t come to that,” she replies commandingly.

“You have to promise me,” he persists, using his Captain’s voice. “Nat, you have to. Better in nobody’s hands than the wrong ones. Imagine what the wrong people could do with it, or what  people would do to  _ get _ it.”

“But Steve-”

“I lived most of my life like this,” he cuts her off. “And that was before modern medicine. I’ll be okay. I can still...” His determination trails into desperation as he loses the sentence, and that fear resurfaces.

Natasha stares back, cut with the realization of what he’s thinking, that he’s useless somehow without it. That she’s implied that, reinforced his fear. It’s not true – Steve is smart and sharp and his brain is as useful as his muscles. His eyes look bigger now that the rest of him has shrunk, shining brightly in the moonlight streaking through the window.

Stricken with guilt, she softens. “Steve-”

The door opens, and a man walks in, followed by a gaggle of security guards – six men it total, Natasha quickly tallies. Before she can recover and slip back into the hallway, the door is closed and the largest of the group blocks their exit. It’s much too late for a safe, silent escape.

The man looks down at them for a moment or two and the whole rooms hangs in silence until everyone comes to their own realizations at once. Well, Natasha reaches hers a split second faster, lunging toward Steve before guns can be drawn and throwing her friend to the ground. “Stay down!” she orders, and whips her own gun around.

She fires a round into the large guard’s head, and he collapses in front of the door, effectively blocking it. The other five point their weapons on her, but she’s already moving out of their shooting path. Not before checking that Steve is no longer behind her however, and indeed he’s taken her advice and scrambled behind the shelving, his narrow shoulders crammed against the wall and the gun still in his hand.

Natasha jumps forward, rolling to cover the distant and stay below the bullets. She pops up inside the closest man’s reach and jams her gun under his safety vest, shooting up into it. Then she yanks him down by the neck and uses him to fling her body around and kick the next man in the face. These are by no means the worst odds she’s fought against. The trouble is, the rarest and  debatably the most dangerous substance on Earth was never on the line those times.

One of the remaining men is pulling out his phone, so she makes him her target, ducking under the arm of another and vaulting over the desk. She pushes off with her hands and twists, jamming her feet into his stomach. The phone falls before he can dial the number. Natasha lands on the floor on her shoulders and flings herself back to her feet by the hips, cracking the man in the head with her gun and stomping on his phone.

Two dead, two unconscious, two remaining, who take advantage of the time it takes for her to crush the phone and reach for her. A muscle-roped arm wraps tightly around her neck and lifts her off the ground. Natasha lowers her gun to shoot him in the leg while she struggles, but the other man is already on her, tearing the gun from her hand and clutching her by the jaw.

He stares into her eyes with a mixture of cold contempt and hot lust, so potent he’s practically steaming. “ _ Little spider,” _ he says, squeezing his fingers into her jaw.  _ "Come to rescue your companion? We have taken his precious serum, reduced him to bones. You will soon join him, and you can share a fate together. The master will relish running his knife through both of you-” _ A bang breaks through the rush of blood in her ears and the lengthy, irritating monologue as the man delivering it cries out. He lets go, his leg giving way beneath him. As he drops, Steve’s head appears above him, the soldier having climbed onto the desk. Steve straightens and whacks the man in the head with the gun as hard as he can, and the enemy collapses with a windless gasp.

Before Natasha can do a thing, she’s released and thrown aside, falling against the corner of the desk before she lands on the floor. It’s sweet relief to be able to breathe again, but there’s no time to recover, as much as she wants to just lay there and cradle her throat while she sucks in desperate breaths; no, she forces herself to move while she does, turning onto her back and reaching for her gun.

The man Steve shot is on the floor, bleeding from the head and the leg, but still moving, still trying to stand. His companion on the other hand, is swiping for a mean punch. A third the size and a tenth the power, but brimming with just as much spirit which can no longer fit inside him, Steve lifts his arm to block the punch with the fleshy part of his arm, just like she’s seen him do a thousand times. Just like Natasha taught him. Only now, there’s barely any flesh on that arm. Steve does manage to  deflect the punch though, turning at the hips and swinging the arch of his booted foot into his attacker’s side.

Captain America would have broken that man in half, but Steve’s leg only pulls a sight ‘oof’ from the much larger, much better geared opponent, and a look of realization crosses Steve’s face as a meaty hand grab him by the ankle. Another rotates out of the block and grabs his wrist, and he’s promptly flung down into the desk. Steve bounces off the back edge and falls to the floor with his legs in the air, his gun clattering out of his grip. And the guard delivers a mighty kick to the table, slamming it right into Steve before the soldier has a chance to move.

The guard just about gets his fingers around the edge of the desk to shove it out of the way, but that’s as far as he gets before two bullets strike him, one in his tactical vest and another into his shoulder. Natasha lifts off her knee and comes closer now that she’s got his attention. It’s not her finest shot, but her vision is clearing up now that her brain is getting enough oxygen. Besides, she only needs to keep him off Steve. He gave her that opening, after all, and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t make her best use of it.

The guard abandons Steve and reaches for her instead with needy fingers, and she waits a second for him to get close enough before dropping back down and rolling into his legs. She grabs one by the ankle and pulls it across his body while she slithers between and snags his belt, yanking him around one-eighty degrees as he drops onto his back. Then she kneels for balance between his legs and aims an easy shot between his eyes.

The room is still apart from the creaking of wood, a draft outside the window, and the groan of someone trying to get up, she spins around, just as a bullet fires, but it’s just Steve finishing off the man who was j starting to get up again.

Steve holsters the gun and grips the desk with one shaking hand while he rakes back his hair with the other, panting laboriously. Natasha holsters her weapon too and closes the gap between them, steadying him by the shoulder and inspecting him. A rivulet of blood dribbles boldly from one nostril, pooling on his top lip.

There’s barely any time to recover before she notes the growing noises of distress outside the room. Natasha pulls Steve with her to the door, peering through the window. People are running, speaking urgently to each other, and Natasha catches a few words above the rest – enough to deduce that they’ve discovered Steve’s empty cell. The two friends make eye contact, and Steve peers at her with urgency that says what his gasps won’t allow him to.

Natasha takes him by both shoulders and looks him in the eyes. “We’re not leaving yet,” she reassures. “Let me handle this. Can you run?”

He nods and swallows painfully, ready to follow her guidance.

“Good,” she replies, and drags the body slumped in front of the door out of the way. She plucks off his hat and pulls it over Steve’s head, then grabs one for herself from another body and places herself by the door. Cautiously, she watches out the door, finally finding the right opportunity to slip out of the room and into the hallway.

Steve is still panting and bleeding from the nose, but he manages to mirror her countenance as she in-turn mirrors the body-language of those running through the castle hallways. She says urgent, relevant phrases in French to Steve as she leads him up the steps, on the look-out for a good place to lay low for a minute or two, and ideally check her friend over for anything serious. He seems fine, limping along beside her at a steady but arduous pace, though she knows he’s too stubborn to even acknowledge his injuries under circumstances like these.  _ You’re not much better even when the fight’s over, either. _ Natasha shakes her head to herself as she weaves through the swarms of guards and suited men all searching for their missing trophy. Amidst it all, his hand eventually slips in hers. Or maybe hers into his... Either way, she holds on tightly.

Luck favors them. Two floors up from the room they just vacated, there aren’t so many people running. Both of them slow to a brisk walk, ready to run again if necessary. Steve does his best not to breathe too loudly, but this pace has been hard on his lungs and he sounds like he’s in pain. Natasha draws herself closer to him and rests her hand on her gun as they turn the first corner, and peer into the first room in their path.

This is the ideal place to take a rest. Natasha shuts the door and flicks on the lights, revealing a small one-room first-aid station. One wall is lined with a few chairs, while the other is covered in shelves of supplies. In the corner is an examination table and a curtain that can be drawn around it. Natasha nudges the door shut and shuffles Steve into a chair. He sits with a wince and squeezes his bleeding nose with one hand while he tries to catch the drips with the other, still wheezing. His swallow sounds wet and sticky. Natasha places a hand between his shoulders and gently pushes him forward, making sure he has a good grip on the bridge of his nose before she leaves him to grab the box of tissues on the counter.

Natasha kneels in front of him and indiscriminately pulls out a handful of tissues, slipping them under his hands. She grabs another and does her best to dab whatever she can off his face, but there’s so much of it that she knows she’ll need some water. There’s a sink in the corner. She leaves his side and finds some folded clothes in a drawer, wetting two with cold water and coming back. One, she wraps around Steve’s neck, and the other she uses to clean his face. So much blood...

Regardless, Steve is calmly breathing as deeply as he can, patiently waiting this out. He’s still wheezing, lightly holding his ribs and tipped in favor of the side that appears to be bothering him. He’s more bruise than anything else, new ones quickly developing.

Natasha chews on her guilt as she gently draws the tissues away. More blood immediately wells up, so she replaces the soaked tissues with clean ones. “It doesn’t want to stop, does it,” she murmurs, sitting in the chair beside him and putting the tissue box in her lap. Tentatively, she wraps her arm around his shoulders. His whole body is quivering with strain.

Steve shakes his head, but he doesn’t look surprised. “Yeah...” he sighs, swallowing wetly again. “Might take a while.”

“You okay?” she asks, and he pauses before shrugging. It’s one of the most honest answers he’s ever given with regard to that particular question. “Where, Steve?”

He slumps even further and gestures vaguely at his whole body. “Everywhere,” he mutters.

That’s a mild relief. Natasha squeezes his shoulder. This must be so... surreal. In a process Steve doesn’t even remember, he’s lost his physical health. What awaits him beyond these walls if he can’t get his serum back? He’s not worthless, she knows that, but does everyone else? Most importantly, does  _ Steve? _ Natasha stares up at the clock on the wall, currently reading two-thirty am, the hands clicking closer and closer to eight – closer to their last chance to deal with this before it leaves the building.

“Steve?” she looks back to him, desperate to say what must be said, but faltering. “Steve, I’m sorry...”

He meets her eyes for a moment before looking back at the drips of blood on the floor. “Don’t be,” he says quietly. “It’s not your fault.”

“I underestimated you,” she says. “And you saved me.”

Steve looks at the blood on his hand, flips it over to examine where it’s dried under his nails. “I’d underestimate myself too,” he replies quietly. Then he gives her a sad smile just visible under the hand and the stack of tissues. “You were right... I forgot for a minute, that I was... that I’m not...” His smile wanes.

“But you still beat him,” Natasha reasons sternly. This is her responsibility, for giving those doubts a leg to stand on. This is her responsibility as Steve’s partner, and as his senior. He’s still so young, and she forgets that sometimes. Younger than her, not even in his thirties yet. Despite his lack of size, Steve’s tired eyes and ashen skin make him look older by a decade.

Steve sighs and shrugs, morosely pulling the tissues off his nose to test whether the flow has staunched yet. “I guess...” he dabs tentatively under his nose on a clean portion of tissue and inspects it. The blood finally seems to have stopped. Steve sags with relief and lets his hands flop between his legs. “You still warned me though. About... fighting when you aren’t used to your limits.”

“It’s never a good idea,” she agrees calmly. “But sometimes you don’t have a choice. And... maybe I didn’t know what your limits were either.”

Steve looks up at her with a dry laugh and gestures at himself, tears gathering in his eyes. “Look at me, Nat. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Steve...” He does look absolutely awful, but that’s partly to do with the contrast to what she’s used to, what he’s used to too. And it’s also because of how easily he bruises. With the serum, Steve could fall off a four-story building and only look like he took a tumble off some monkey bars at a playground, the ones with the sand underfoot. Right now, Steve is bruising under a mildly tense grip.

But he still tipped the scales in that fight.

Natasha reaches between his legs and takes his hand. “Hey,” she smiles softly. “Even if we don’t get the serum back, or it doesn’t turn you back, there’ll always be a place for you with us.”  _ There was a place for me, and I was a deadly Russian spy. It might be time to pay forward Clint’s favor. _ Regardless of what’s been done for her in the past, Steve deserves to hear that he’s valuable.

Steve peers at her with doubt, sniffing and wiping his eyes on the back of his other hand. “Doing what?” he asks weakly, shivering as he tries to restrain himself. She’s seen him do it many times before, and though it’s always been far more successful, it’s never flawless; Steve is a horrible liar.

“You’d be the first to tell me that not everybody can be a fighter,” she says with a teasing smile, hoping to lift his spirits. It’s heart-breaking to stare at his weepy eyes, and she will have none of it. “You can’t win a war with just soldiers. You need leaders, strategists, informants... People would still respect you, Steve. They would follow your orders. Some would be skeptical, but not after a mission or two. You would prove their assumptions wrong, no matter where you ended up.” She squeezes his hand firmly. 

Steve stares at her for a moment, his eyes continuing to well up until the first tear spills over, at which time he looks away in shame. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I lived like this for way longer... I...”

“Steve.” Natasha wraps her arm back around his shoulders and releases his hand so she can take his face and force him to look at her. “It’s alright. Don’t be sorry.” He has no reason to be, not when this has been done to him. He has every right to feel the way he does, to feel lost and disparaged, but she doesn’t want him to. “You’re more that the serum. You know that, right?”

Steve sniffs and turns his eyes downward. “Maybe... maybe I forgot,” he admits, barely above a whisper.

Natasha smiles. “Maybe the world forgot too.”  _ Maybe so did I. _ “I’m sorry we ever made you feel that way.”

Steve smiles and leans into her shoulder as she draws him in. “Eh. It’s what you get what you’re the strongest human being on the planet... Not sure what I expected...”

“To be treated like a person?” Natasha tries. “There’s a whole lot more to you than being able to hurl trucks with your bare hands, though don’t get me wrong, that can be handy.”

Steve huffs weakly, but she can see it’s a cheerful laugh this time. “You’d still take orders from me, if... if things don’t work out?”

“I’d rather have you on my six out there, but of course I would,” Natasha replies eagerly. “I doubt the serum turned you into a strategist. It amplifies what’s already there, doesn’t it?” She knows that it does.

He flushes at that, and nods. “Yeah.”

“No wonder you had such an out-of-this-world ass, then,” she smiles back, her eyebrow raising with pleasure as he flushes even deeper. “Steady, soldier. Don’t want that nose-bleed to start up again.” She stands up and pulls her hand away, but he holds on.

“Natasha?” he peers up at her. She smiles back invitingly, and he swallows, licking his lips. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She pushes off his hat so she can kiss his forehead, threading her fingers into his hair before giving it a fond ruffle. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and fix this. And I’ll destroy the serum if I have to, I promise.”

Steve sighs with relief. “Thanks,” he breathes, pulling the cloth off his neck and pushing it under his shirt to hold it on his ribs. She strides to the cabinets, and when she glances back, he’s leaning back with a wince and watching her drowsily. Her smile lingers and she focuses on soaking the other cloth with fresh water from the sink. It’s best not to walk around covered in so much blood.

Natasha sits back down beside him, and he turns his body to face her so she can clean up his face. She wipes carefully to avoid disturbing the fragile clot in his nose. When he’s clean, she pats him down gently in search of other injuries, just in case, and he patiently allows her to do so. Luckily, she finds nothing other than a few sore spots. No broken bones, no gaping wounds.

“Thanks,” Steve smiles at her as he scrubs blood from the grooves of his hands.

“Of course,” she says. “You’re my friend.”

It’s unusual for Steve to be so vulnerable, certainly not in the middle of a mission, but he gives her a teary, grateful smile. “Thanks, Nat.”

“I’ll take care of it,” she says. “Whatever happens, I’ll deal with it. You’re not alone.” She’ll handle the objections and other road-blocks that will undoubtedly crop up if Steve returns to SHIELD as he is. Even the transition to a new position were to be seamless, she knows they would want to do tests. And if she knows Steve, she knows he hates tests. Anything medical, really, and who can blame him? She’ll protect him from that, too.

Steve sighs like he’s giving in, but only to her aid. There’s still the fire of fight in his eyes as he leans into her for a hug. They sit in enemy territory and share a brief but much-needed moment of reprieve, until Natasha gently pulls away and brushes back Steve’s short bangs, threading her fingers through them and down the side of his head to clasp it while she leans in to kiss his lips. He has such soft, thick lips. Lips made for kissing. All the poor women of the thirties who missed out on these lips... Natasha smirks at their loss and resigns herself to the feelings his burning eyes have done to her. He rests his hand on her cheeks, pushing his fingers into her hair while his other hand snakes around her waist, tentative but willing. She can tell he’s not sure what he’s doing, that this is new for him, but he quickly melts into her direction and lets her guide the short kiss.

Too short. They’ll have time, later. She’ll have another chance to taste him, to enjoy how gentle he is. So many men have pursued her in lust, but lust alone doesn’t bother her – it’s the sense of superiority she doesn’t like, when men seek ownership of her while simultaneously undermining her strength. Granted, her encounters with men have mostly been under the context of the job, when she’s purposely lured them to her using her skill set. But this... this is new, completely unlike any encounter she’s ever had. Steve is so willing to learn from her, has been up to this very moment, and he’s not stopping. He’s leaning into her, participating without taking over, or becoming completely complacent either. And in return, she holds him firmly, kneading her fingers into his head. He deserves her respect, to be held with love and strength. 

If only they could linger. Unfortunately, there’s work to be done. Natasha still draws away slowly enough to observe his expression, enjoying the flush in his cheeks and the way he manages to look shocked and dazed at the same time. She sees admiration in his honest eyes, and willingness. Steve’s mouth I still open, and his tongue moves to speak, but she cuts him off with another quick kiss. 

“Eyes up front, soldier,” she says softly as she pulls his hat back on. She stands and offers him her hands. “Let’s find your serum.”

Steve rises to his feet, standing as straight as he can, with his shoulders back and his eyes focused. His jaw is pushing forward like it does when he’s determined. Natasha dumps the bloody tissues in the trash, the cloths in the laundry bin, then takes his hand and leads him back into the hallway. She lets go only when they encounter other personnel, but Steve stays just as close, following her lead.

The frantic search for the escaped prisoner has spread throughout the castle now, but now there are no crowds of people to blend in with, and those guards designated to search each floor are on the look-out for anything out of place. Natasha is good at becoming part of her environment, turning toward Steve to explain to him in French something about the serum while a heavily armed guard on patrol walks by. Steve nods and listens, covering his mouth with his hand thoughtfully as he nods. They keep walking unchallenged, carrying on to the staircase.

Things are a lot busier on ground floor than they were before; the hall is full of mingling guards and a handful of men in suits. Natasha ducks behind a pillar, turning Steve’s back to it and crouching over him. The pair are shadowed and distant enough that she can peer around and watch men mingle around a few cases laid out on tables. Only now, the door that leads to the courtyard where she climbed up the walls to enter, is shut. The exit is firmly locked with a barrier that looks too thick and strong to break through with just a handgun, and it’s guarded on either side by men with long- and short-range weapons. Getting that door open would rely on getting to that control panel and surviving long enough to slip through. Then what, they just run? Neither of them can out-run men of that size, and they certainly can’t outrun guns. How long would it take for Fury to get to them and pull them out? Natasha doubts there’s a way to get those guards away from that door so they can slip out discretely. There will have to be another way, which will probably involve a window.

Serum first. Natasha lets her escape plan simmer while she searches for any signs of the serum. It won’t be out in the open, or easy to snatch, that’s for sure. But it’s not difficult to figure out which case  _ does _ contain the serum: an important-looking man is standing off to one corner, deep in conversation with another, a metal case cuffed to his wrist. Two guards flank him, hands on weapons, alert.

The men are too far away to hear. But fortunately, inside this large hall full of thick supporting pillars and large crates covered in tarps, it shouldn’t be difficult to get close. But how to get the case off that man’s wrist without causing alarm, and then how to get it open? Natasha ponders this while she maps out her path to the opposite corner of the room. She opens her mouth and looks down at Steve to relay what she’s seen, but he’s up on one knee, peering around the pillar for his own look, squinting so hard his eyes are almost shut.

Steve sits back and looks at her when he realizes she’s looking at him. She knows the look of a plan in his eyes when she sees it, but  he waits for her to speak first.

“We need to get closer,” Natasha whispers. “And we need to get that case.”

“That’s not the serum,” he says.

“Are we talking about the same case?”

“The one on his wrist? It’s not. They know I escaped, right? And they know I wouldn’t leave without trying to get it back.” Steve’s eyes may not be as sharp as they were, but his brain works just as well, as do his instincts.

“They would take every precaution with something that valuable,” Natasha agrees. “Where is it, then?” She trusts Steve’s instincts, but if that case doesn’t contain the serum, then where is it being kept? Both of them peer back around the pillar to inspect the room, scouring the endless rows of supplies for a clue. It could be anywhere. What if it’s outside the castle already, or on someone’s person? 

“It’s  gotta be there.” Steve is looking at her when she looks down at him, and he’s pointing around the column to the case on the table wedged into the corner, blocked in by the men standing around it. The case has neat stacks of papers by it, and some other supplies.

“It’s worth a try,” Natasha agrees.  _ Worst case, we wait for the buyer and steal the case once it’s identified.  _ Actually, worst-case is they leave without the serum.  _ It won’t come to that. And I’ll destroy it if I have to. I promised. _ For now, they should try to get hold of that case, and if they have to come back and try again, so be it. They have a few hours. If they have to look inside every corner of this building before eight am, they’ll do just that. The difficulty lies in being discrete, hunting for the serum without alerting the enemy where they’ve looked, or that they’re looking at all.

“What do you need?” Steve is staring at her, his eyes shining clearly in the shadows. He’s ready to follow her orders.

“We need to swap that case for another,” Natasha spots a box full of similar metal cases. Filled with weapons, according to the box label barely readable from this distance. But she can make it over there without being seen, and snag a case. As for Steve? “See where that guard is stacking those boxes?” she points to the corner at the other end of the wall along which they’re hidden, nearby where a guard is arranging the last couple of boxes of supplies off a palette into a neat stack. Nothing explosive, just test tubes and other scientific equipment that won’t explode with impact. “When I give you the signal, you knock one of those boxes off and hide.” That should cause enough commotion for her to escape. And the guard should take on any suspicion if the men check the case and connect the dots.

Steve looks over at the boxes the guard is walking away from, sizing up his mission. Being so small means that he should be able to crouch under the adjacent stack, which is much lower, and make it to the nearest pillar for cover without being spotted. Between there and the door is plenty of cover for him to escape the hall unseen.

“I’ll signal you like this,” Nat lifts off her hat, knowing he’ll be able to see it even with his impaired vision. “Then meet me back here if it’s safe.”

Steve smiles. “Be careful.”

“Always, soldier.” She smiles right back.

They move out. Steve creeps into position behind the boxes and crouches to watch the table while Natasha hurries to the boxes of weapons and pulls out one of the cases while no-one is looking. She ducks back into the shadows and opens it to check it isn’t empty – the wrongs contents are less suspicious than no contents at all. Indeed, there’s a gun here. Natasha shuts the case and leans against the crate, watching the men talking around the table. They’re guarding it, boxing it in from one side while paying it no attention. But they don’t have to scrutinize it, because nobody would be able to stroll past them to get to it. Even if someone were to descend from the ceiling, they would be seen in the peripheral of at least one of those men. And the man with the case cuffed to his wrist ranks lower than the other two suits he’s talking with.  _ Expendable, _ she thinks.  _ Steve’s probably right about that case being the decoy. Cuff it to someone they won’t mind dying, make it look important. Trick us into wasting time getting that case off his wrist, and getting into it. Meanwhile, protect the real goods more subtly. _ She wonders how Steve made his deductions given that he can’t see very well, particularly at that distance.

It may be tight, but Natasha can get close. She avoids a few guards and other personnel walking through the hall as they do their rounds or inspect the gross amount of inventory stored here. With just one pillar between her and the men guarding the table, she crouches down and peers around. Steve is just visible from her position, and only because she knows where to look. He’s well-hidden, watching her through a gap in the crates of supplies. She gives him the salute, and turns her attention back to the men, preparing herself to move.

When the boxes topple, the crash is immense, the shattering of glass ringing through the hall. The men wince and turn to look instinctively, and Natasha dives behind the back-most guard and under the table. Nobody sees her, nor do they hear even a whistle of wind over the last crunches of glass.

“ _ What was that? _ " One suited man growls. “ _ That imbecilic ruined our stock. Go and find him. And you, make sure no more boxes are going to topple. _ "

Natasha smiles and waits, peering up from under the table at the men. One guard runs off to look for his coworker who stacked the boxes, and the other strides toward the stack. Behind it, Natasha can just see the glint of broken glass strewn across the floor. The three suited men are still in a good position to spot her, though, not completely turned away. They’re on alert, looking around as their companions go to investigate the commotion.

The chance to swap the cases and then also escape with it doesn’t look like it will present itself, but Steve knows what he’s doing, because a second crash is soon to follow the first, joined by a cry of surprise and pain.  _ You be careful, Steve... _ She watches as the guard falls down behind the stack.

_ “What the fuck is going on over there?” _ One of the suited men demands, striding toward the  commotion while the other two  move away from the table to get a better look.

While she has the chance, Natasha pokes out from under the table and swaps the cases as quietly as she can, ducking back underneath for a second to check her path is clear before slipping out from her hiding place and disappearing into the shadows. Boxes are still toppling, keeping the attention one that side of the hall even after she’s left the room. Steve has expertly crafted his distraction, managing to topple the boxes in a way that continues to disrupt the stacking arrangement even after he’s left – Steve is right there where they agreed to meet, hidden behind the pillar where they started.

Without a word, they scurry off together, Natasha leading the way in search of a safe place to inspect their prize. She can feel the promising slosh of fluid inside the case, and without her training, she would surely have difficulty focusing on the mission rather than the hope rising inside of her. 

It’s not difficult to find a quite spot in this big castle – Natasha pulls them into a dark room and hides them behind a stack of crates probably containing more weapons. They both crouch over the case as Natasha sets it down and pops the clasps.

Inside are six vials filled with bright blue fluid.

“Point for you, Rogers,” she looks over at his speechless face with a smile of pride.

Steve returns her gaze, his mouth open with a mixture of relief and realization. “I guess that makes us even with the bad guys.”

“Soon you’ll be hoisting motorbikes over your head again,” she reassures. “And that’ll be two points for us.”

“That’s not a guarantee,” Steve remarks wisely.

“We’ve got all the ingredients to make a super-soldier,” she replies confidently. “The serum, a Stark, and you.”

“Tony could probably build a machine out of car parts,” Steve agrees. “But I think... I think they have the machine right here.”

Natasha shuts the case. “You do?” It does make sense. With so much other supplies here, it makes sense that a machine to remove the serum from Steve’s body would be too.

Steve nods, scratching his head with a wince of concentration. “I  sorta remember... a box. Kind of. They stuck me in, and it hurt a lot, and then they took me out again. That’s the last thing I remember before waking up in that cell.”

It’s something at least. “Let’s look for it, then,” Natasha stands up and offers him her hand. He takes it, and when he's on his feet, she gives him the case. “I think I spotted a lab on my way down to find you.”

“We should have a look before they find out this is missing,” Steve taps the case held tightly to his chest.

Natasha nods her agreement. Having a super-soldier to lend some extra power will certainly help their escape. And why waste time trying to build a super-soldier-making machine when there might be one right here? Of course, it could just be a de-super-soldier- ing machine, but they don’t know until they check.  _ Easier to get the serum out of here if it’s back in Steve. _ And for Steve’s sake, she knows he would rather deal with this without anyone else being involved. So would she.

He’s watching her earnestly, trusting her command. She won’t let him down. Natasha leads him out of the room and back into the castle corridor. She definitely remembers walking past a room full of expensive and intricate-looking equipment. There are enough people walking around that they don’t stick out in the crowd. She’s particularly worried that the case will be suspicious, but enough people are carrying similar cases that it’s not a concern.

Sure enough, she’s right about the lab. It’s only a couple of floors up. She looks into every room she passes as casually as she can until she spots a huge capsule propped upright and plugged into various machines. People are standing around it in lab coats, inspecting the wiring and fiddling with the dials of the various control panels connected to it. The attached equipment is modern enough, but the capsule itself looks ancient, maintained in good enough shape but clearly weathered by the hands of time. It’s a de-super-solder- ing machine if she ever saw one.

“Stay behind me,” she murmurs to Steve. “Duck behind the desk when I say.”

Steve nods without question and follows her inside the room.

Natasha saunters in and closes the door behind her as if she works here, sinking more movement into her hips. All four scientists pause their work to look up at her.  _ “Hey there,” _ she says smoothly in French, running her finger along the edge of one of the control panels as she walks further into the room.  _ “I was sent to check on your progress.” _

_ “A-all is fine, madame,” _ the closest man takes off his glasses and turns away from the wiring he’s inspecting, lowering his clip-board.  _ “All on schedule.” _

_ “Excellent,”  _ she remarks, and draws her gun. “Duck.” Before the armed ones can reach their weapons, she’s shot them. The other two dive for cover, but she hops onto the table beside her and shoots them where they’ve hidden behind a row of control stations. Pleased, she hops back to the ground and turns around.

Steve rises from where he’s taken cover and walks over to the capsule in the middle of the room, staring up at it. His eyes are filled with recognition. “This is... how did they get this?” He rubs his finger over an engraving in the metal along the side.

Come to think of it... Natasha is pretty sure she’s seen this device in old reports while doing research on her Avengers colleagues. “We’ll let Fury know,” she says. “But maybe first we should try firing it up. You remember how any of this stuff works?”

“A little...” Steve turns away from the capsule and walks over to the nearest set of controls, rubbing his face. “There were a lot more levers back then...”

Analog controls have been replaced with touch screens and monitors. Natasha powers up the console beside him and reads the menu. “It doesn’t look too complicated...”

“I think we need a lot more people to operate this,” Steve looks over at her. “There were loads of people in that room when I did this the first time.”

“Women are good at multitasking,” Natasha replies calmly as she looks up at a screen mounted to the wall that will display various parameters when the machine is working, like oil temperate and voltage. “It can’t be that complicated. All the magic’s in that.” She points to the case in his hand. Making a super-soldier isn’t as simple as making a microwave burrito, but most of these buttons are for start-up. Once the machine is in operation, it doesn’t look like there’s anything to look out for.

Steve smiles as he walks around to take stock of the other control panels. “You’re starting to sound like Stark. Running in without a plan?”

Steve’s right, that this isn’t something to be trifled with, that Steve’s  _ safety _ is at risk if they make the wrong move, but she doesn’t want to leave without at least trying to understand these panels. Neither of them is a scientist, but they’re both plenty smart. She raises her eyebrow at him. “I do have a plan. I just want to give this the best chance we can, that’s all. We got this far. If we leave now, they could ship this equipment out of here before we get the chance to come back for it.”

“You’re right...” Steve agrees. “But I’ll be okay if I stay like this, Nat. Really.”

“I know,” she says, bending down to pick up a booklet of printed notes from a limp hand of a fallen scientist. She comes to stand across the counter from Steve to flip through it. “But we should try it while we’re here. We have the serum, and we have you. We don’t have the Stark, but if he’s rubbed off that much on me like you say, then we’ll be fine.”

Steve doesn’t say anything for a few moments, tapping on a touch screen a few times before piping up. His voice is timid, as if he’s ashamed of what he’s about to say. “I wanted to go back for a long time,” he says, focusing intently on what’s in front of him. “It just didn’t feel like my body. It felt like I was in someone else’s skin, and no matter what I tried I couldn’t make it mine. Then recently... I just started to feel... at home. Like it was mine, finally. It was the first time I stopping thinking about before the ice.”

“Steve, why didn’t you say something?” she looks directly at him. “I had no idea.” She should have. She remembers the thick cloud of melancholy that hung over him when she first met him, how focused and distant he was. When he smiled, it felt more like a polite reaction rather than a genuine one, something to blend in with the situation. His laughs felt calculated rather than because he was happy. It had taken a while for him to loosen up around her, but she had always assumed that was just how he was. Clearly it was more.

Steve shrugs and taps aimlessly on the screen, refusing to make eye-contact. “Dunno. Didn’t know what to say... Seemed stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“What could I possibly have to complain about?” he looks at her now. "I had everything. I went to sleep and woke up when the war was over. I never got sick, and I still have friends and money.”

“Nobody would blame you for feeling out of place,” she reassures. “Steve, you lost seventy years. Everything you knew changed in an instant, and you were forced to adapt. How could anybody expect you to just... accept that?” Did he? Did he try to push through and go about his life as if he was fine? With nothing like how he remembered it, not feeling at home in even his own body?

“Not like I had a choice.”

“No,” she agrees. “I’m not berating you, Steve.” It’s too late to change the past or question actions he’s already taken. “I’m just saying I’m here for you. Whether this works or not.”

He opens his mouth to reply, then sighs and looks down. When he raises his head and meets her gaze, he’s smiling. It’s a small smile, but a touched one. “Thanks, Nat. You’re a good friend. A better one that me.”

“I would disagree with that,” she returns his smile with a pleased one of her own. “But we can talk about this later, when we’re not in enemy territory. Making any progress?”

Steve stands a bit straighter and points at his screen. “Most of these settings are for extraction, but if we reverse them...” he strides toward a different part of the equipment, scanning the dials for what he needs. He taps the screen when he finds it and looks over. “I  remember this part.”

Natasha walks over and looks at what he’s found. “Vita-rays,” she says. “Sounds dangerous.”

“Probably,” Steve agrees. “Fury will kill us if he finds out.”

“Who says he needs to know?”

“ _ Now _ you sound like Stark,” Steve grins.

“If sounding like Stark means I figure this machine out, then I’ll take it,” Natasha holds up her booklet. “I think we fire it up with this.”

Steve has never looked happier, confirming what Natasha has suspected about him for a long time now; that he’s far from the goody-two-shoes golden boy America thinks he is. Oh, that rebellious streak could be seen from space, Steve’s just good at playing the part with his golden hair and his charming smile. Steve only follows the rules if he agrees with them to begin with, not because he’s been ordered to. There's not a man she would rather follow than him.

“One thing I will say about the twenty-first century,” Steve says as they follow the instructions to power on the machine, “is that everything is more user-friendly.”

The computer is doing a lot of the work, maintaining the correct levels and firing things up in the correct order for them. It’s only a couple of button sequences they need to input correctly, and a passcode, but all of that is documented in this manual. “Is that the only thing you like about it?” she asks curiously.

“There are a few other things,” Steve shrugs, glancing at her and blushing faintly as he selects a few settings from the menu.

“Rogers, are you flirting with me?” she raises her eyebrow and bumps him with her hip as she checks his work with the manual. “If you don’t focus, we might accidentally turn you into Bigfoot.”

Steve laughs and blushes deeper, the red color visible up the back of his neck. She pulls the hat off his head and sure enough, his ears are bright red too. He grabs the hat and pulls it back on. “Worse things to be than Bigfoot.”

“Okay, a fish.”

“Now who’s not focusing?” Steve scrolls through the options one last time before moving onto the next row of screens. “We need to reverse the right stuff here.”

Flirting on the job is very unprofessional.  _ Maybe Stark is rubbing off on me. _ Wouldn’t that just be disastrous? Oh well, Stark has his charms. He certainly knows how to lighten the mood. If he finds out about this, he’s going to be disappointed he didn’t get the chance to take a crack at this enigma.  _ He still might. Who knows if this will  _ _ work. _ There are still a few more settings to adjust.

If she didn’t know better, she would believe Steve had worked with this machine before, instead of simply been inside of it. His eyes are flicking between the screen and her manual, mulling over the settings for a moment before making a couple of adjustments. He looks over at her for her opinion with every change he makes.

“I think we should reverse the bias voltage,” she offers after a flick through the pages. The direction of current is directly related to the administration of the serum. The manual leads her to a switch nearby, which she flicks.

The machine is whirring to life already, lights blinking steadily all around the room and the monitor filling with informative statistics. All the indicators are green. The pair make eye contact before turning around to look at the pod lying horizontal, the doors open and beckoning.

Steve picks up the case and sets it on the table inside the pod, inspecting the inner working of it. “It’s missing something,” he notes, peering inside. “There were these... injectors, on the sides, to put the serum in. They’re not here.”

Natasha puts down the manual, and they spread out to look. None of this is good for anything if they can’t get the serum into Steve. It’s not like he can just drink it. She starts along the walls, rummaging through equipment in bags and boxes. There are lots of spare cables and plugs and other electronic components. She pushes a toolkit and a box of pre-wired circuit-boards out of the way, digging through enough miscellaneous supplies to build a rocket. Amidst the endless stock of useless bits and bobs, she spots a familiar circular shape covered in a cloth, and a folded outfit in familiar colors. 

“I found it!” Steve calls from the other side of the room, brandishing a metal object with holes in it in each hand.

Natasha proudly holds up her find as well, and they swap as they meet back in front of the pod. She hands him his shield and uniform. “I think these are yours, Captain.”

Steve sets his uniform on the floor and inspects his shield, running his hand fondly along the edge. “Thanks.” He glows when he looks back at her, resting it on the floor too.

“You’re going to need it,” she says, handing him one of the serum cartridges. “Come on, let’s fit you into that suit. It’s faster than tailoring it.”

Steve laughs, turning the cartridge the right way and slotting it into the right spot on the machine, doing up the clamps. Natasha follows suit, sliding half the serum vials into the slots and twisting them into place. The tops seal into the base, and she takes off the protective cover on the pad at the side, revealing an array of injectors. They look painful.

_ “Hey! What are you two doing?” _ A man in a white coat stands in the doorway, reaching to his hip for his weapon as he approaches.

Steve has the shield in his hand before Natasha can draw her gun, and he blocks the enemy fire, giving her time to retaliate and kill the intruder. _We’re the intruders, technically..._

Hurriedly, Natasha jogs over and pulls the body into the room, shutting the door again. People are shouting down the corridor, and footsteps are approaching. “Get in the pod,” she orders, dragging a heavy crate against the door.

Steve drops his shield and hops on the edge, taking off his boots and Natasha’s jacket as fast as he can. He strips off his shirt as well, and wisely undoes his belt as the final touch. In just his pants, he lies down on the table and does up the strap across his chest.

Natasha stacks the heaviest box she can lift on top, and slides another crate in front of the first. That should hold for the moment. She runs back to the machine and turns on the tablet beside the pod. “Ready?” He looks nervous all of a sudden, shifting uncomfortably on the unforgiving surface and shivering in the draft.

“I guess-”

She can’t resist. Sparing herself this indulgence and hoping to reassure him, she leans over him and bends down for a hasty kiss. “It’s going to be alright,” she promises. “Just a pinch, right?” This is going to hurt as much as he expects, and they both know that. Steve doesn’t have the benefit of inexperience to calm his nerves.

“I’ve had worse,” he agrees.

“Yell at me if something feels wrong,” she orders. “I’ll see you in a minute.”

“Nat?” he grabs her shirt. “I’m scared.”

“Me too,” she admits, cupping his cheek. “But we’re going to make it through this. Steve Rogers is the toughest, bravest man there is.”

He swallows, still visibly afraid, but meeting her gaze firmly. “Thank you.”

“Deep breaths,” she orders. “We can talk when this is over.” She salutes him, and holds it.

He nods in agreement, and returns her salute.

Natasha draws away and turns back to the controls, starting the process of prepping the pod. Motors whir as it props upward, the doors sliding shut and enclosing Steve inside. She can’t even see his hair through the window at the top. Somebody tries the door, banging against her barricade. People immediately start yelling in French, wrestling more aggressively with the door. Natasha ignores their words and looks back to the monitor to double-check that everything is still ready to go. She wastes no more time, ordering the machine with a final button press to begin the process. _Dear god let this work._

She picks up Steve’s shield, holding it between herself and the door as she runs around to the control panels one row back, watching the blinking lights and indicators telling her the machine status. Currently, the machine is hissing, and she can hear Steve gasp in pain. “Still good in there?”

“Yup,” he replies tightly. “It’s  goin ’ in, that’s all.”

Natasha winces in sympathy and glances at the door, her heart racing faster when a bullet pings off the lock, followed by the bang of a body slamming against it. She looks down at the screen, begging the ‘hold’ light to go out. Two seconds feel like a hundred, but finally the light goes out, another button flashing green just below it and the screen changing to a live display of Vita-Ray levels.  _ Who came up with this, anyway? _ Natasha presses the button faster than she’s ever pressed a button in her life, watching as the bar starts to fill up. One percent, two, three, five, ten... all while the computers calculate and administer the doses.

The door creaks and strains. Natasha hops over the desk and runs toward it, holding the shield by the straps and using it to push another crate in front of her line-up. If they get in here and damage the machine or interfere with the progress in any way, it could have untold effects. Steve could die. And if he survives, and they remove him mid-transformation, they would simply re-extract the serum, and they’ll be back  to square one. Less than, really, because Natasha will either be killed or imprisoned alongside Steve, and tighter protocols will be installed to protect the stolen goods. 

A light is growing from inside the pod, visible through the small, dim window. And Steve is starting to make noises of discomfort. The pod is shaking on its struts. 

There isn’t much else to improve the barricade with, nothing she’s strong enough to move on her own, at least.  So Natasha runs back to the Vita-Ray screen, staring at the inadequate thirty-four percent. The door groans as its blasted with something much more powerful than a bullet, and Steve gasps loud enough to be heard from her position. Something starts beeping urgently.

Natasha runs to tend to it, following the red flashing in search of the problem. “Steve!” she calls. “Are you okay?” The monitor on the wall just above her head is telling her that the temperature is climbing. Something at the base of the pod is starting to glow, and she can smell burning rubber.

“This is normal!” Steve yells back, followed by a disconcerting yelp. “Normal!”

“I don’t think it is!” she contests, looking between the monitor and the other control panels as she skirts around the desk in search of her manual.

_ “Everybody clear!” _ somebody yells on the other side of the door, which can’t be good.

Natasha scoops up the papers and runs back to the flashing warning lights, checking in on the temperature above. Oil pressure is plummeting, entering the red now too. Tony would know what was wrong without the manual, probably, but fortunately, Natasha at least as a hope of finding the problem herself. She just hopes she can do so in time, before the pod explodes or those men burst in and kill both of them.

Meanwhile, the light grows brighter. Natasha squints and looks away, shielding her eyes from the intense glare. How Steve wasn’t rendered blind the first time is a miracle. Page after page she flips through, looking between them and the blinking screens. Outside erupts an explosion, and the door dents violently. Natasha ducks behind the shield instinctively, momentarily losing her place in the manual.

Steve screams so harshly she can feel how it tears at his throat.

“Steve!” she yells, looking up at the window before immediately looking away when the light nearly blinds her.

“Keep going!” he cries.

“Steve-!”

“Trust me!” He screams again, and she can’t help be worried.

But she  _ does  _ trust him, just like he’s trusted her to help him get back what he lost. Natasha takes his word for it and tries not to think too hard about how bone-wrenching his screams sound. If she were to guess what kind of a scream a person would make while their body was remade, she would guess that exact sound. But maybe that’s a good sign...

So long as he’s not being torn apart in there, which by the sound of it is a possibility. “Oh god...” she whispers, swallowing her tears of panic so she can digest the words in front of her. The heat is growing critical, and the light is only growing brighter. Those men are getting through the door, cutting through the metal lock so they can pry it open the other direction. She can’t defend herself and troubleshoot at the same time.

There, a flashing light and an error code!  _ Engine overheating due to pump failure.  _ The cooling pump isn’t working properly. Natasha discards the manual and holds up the shield to block the light, running toward the pod and ducking down the back. There’s her problem, a cable hanging loose in the bundle plugged into the wall. She grabs it without thinking and plugs it straight in. Immediately, another component comes to life, and one of the beeps stops. She looks back up at the screen, willing the temperature to stop climbing. It’s slowing its ascent toward the critical marker, just brushing the line before it starts to fall back down one degree at a time.

She could cry. Natasha abandons the pump and runs back to the Vita-Ray display, drawing her gun as she does and crouching where she can see the display and the door at once. The percentage continues to climb, in the high eighties now and not stopping. Steve screams again, and the light is so bright that she has to duck under the shield to protect her eyes.

The sawing on the other side of the door stops, followed by a few bangs and the drop of bolts. Natasha peers around the desk and aims her gun over the barricade as the door  falls backward.

The most awful scream she’s ever heard rings out from the capsule, closely accompanied by a flash of light. Natasha barely manages to duck back behind the shield and shut her eyes before it entirely blinds her. Simultaneously, the door falls away with a huge clang that vibrates inside her skull. The air still smells like burning rubber, with the added scent of ozone. Senses pelted, she huddles there in a daze, willing for it to pass.

People are moving around her, but she can’t tell from where. Natasha peers around the shield, but all she can see is smoke. She raises her gun and guards her back against the desk, watching the shadows moving in the darkness. Somebody staggers out of the smoke, but before she has to aim her gun at him, another much larger shadows crashes in behind and hurls the body over her head.

“Let’s go,” Steve says, offering her his hand.

She takes it, and he pulls her to her feet, giving her back her jacket. The bruises across his face are being swallowed by healthy skin right in front of her, the last one disappearing as if they were never there. His uniform is tucked under his arm, his pants fitting just a little too small. She puts on her jacket and gives him back his shield, holding his hand, gun at the ready as he leads her through the smoke. Having been essentially flash-banged, the enemies can hardly do a thing to protect themselves when Steve runs into them, throwing them aside on his shield and carrying on unhindered. He tucks Natasha under his arm and leaps over the remainder of her barricade, guarding them with his shield when the army of guards shoot from down the hall.

“Hang onto me,” Steve orders, helping her scramble up his torso. She tucks her head under his chin and wraps her arms and legs around his body, perfectly protected by the shield. Steve raises it and runs, gaining in speed now that he’s no longer held back by her shorter, non-super-solder legs. A couple of men follow them out from behind, but Natasha pokes her head over Steve’s shoulder and shoots them down.

Steve plows through the men like a tank, smashing them aside with his shield and a few kicks where necessary. More enemies are coming, swarming toward the chaos from the lower floors, but they’re spread out enough that Steve can take them down. Restricted by the hallways, they can’t spread out to surround him. Like the stone ball from Indiana Jones into standard bowling pins, Steve jumps down the stairs and lands feet-first into the chest of a guard leading a charge up toward them. Him and his men scatter, and Steve lifts his shield under the last couple at the back, throwing them with bone-breaking force into the walls.

A force of nature against mortals, Steve tears his way to the first floor and breaks into a full-out sprint once he reaches the hall. When his hand reaches back, Natasha gives him her gun and just hangs tight. People are shouting, running toward them, but she feels the recoil of the gun, hears the bullets as they cut down whoever dares get in their way. There are many arguments to be made for stealth, but right now what they need is brute force.

And nobody can match Captain America on a rampage. The pillars fly by, and anyone on their tail is rapidly losing ground.

“One second,” Steve slides to a stop before he collides with the sealed exit door, handing her back her gun. She gets down on her knee to aim at the opposite end, protecting his back while he jams his shield into the gap between the steel doors and makes himself a gap. Then he pries them apart and pushes as hard as he can. The doors groan and scrape against the ground, but they submit to him.

A few men have caught up. Natasha forces them to take cover with a barrage of shots, reloading and resuming the fire.

“Time to go!” Steve grunts as he shoves the doors the last few inches needed to slip through. He holds them apart so she can slip through, then follows right behind and scoops her up, taking off at his full speed.

Time to go indeed, and time to call Fury. Tucked against Steve’s side, she holsters her gun and digs out her phone. “I got him!” she says before her boss can say a word. “A pick-up would be great!” She hangs up.

“Which way?” Steve asks.

“Straight ahead!” she orders, glancing behind. The doors are fully open and armed man on four-by-fours are spreading out behind them in hot pursuit. They won’t catch up to a sprinting super-soldier before Fury arrives.

When the jet appears from the sky, there’s still lots of space in front to lower almost right to the ground. The ramp lowers and Steve  puts his head down so he can gain a fraction more speed. Natasha holds herself as close to him as possible, and tucks her head down as he closes the gap. He wraps his shield arm around her and leaps several feet with ease, landing on the open ramp. The jet angles forward as the ramp starts to close, pitching them forward and into safety. Steve rolls onto his back panting, Natasha sprawled over him while his chest lifts her up and down with heaving breaths.

“Quite the exit, Romanoff.” Fury appears over them. “Rogers.”

Steve gives a loose, breathless salute. Natasha sits up off Steve and stands, straightening out her clothes calmly. She offers Steve her hand and sits beside him on the bench. “Not everything went to plan, but we got it done.”

Fury looks between the two of them, but neither of them have anything else to add. Steve just shrugs unhelpfully. Sighing, Fury walks away and comes back with a shirt and a pair of boots, leaving them to it with a shake of his head.

Steve slips on the shirt and gives a sigh of his own, leaning into Natasha’s side. They exchange knowing glances, Steve’s smile slowly curling upward as it lingers until he bursts out into a chuckle.

Natasha laughs alongside him and takes his hand, squeezing it with relief. 

\--

Of course the first thing Fury wants to do when they get back to the  helicarrier is whisk Steve away to medical for check-ups, and get the run-down from Natasha.

Those are not Natasha’s plans; the moment the check-ups are insisted upon, she looks over to Steve in preparation to find a way to get him out of them, but when he gives her a calm nod, she goes with him instead. A mission report can wait.

Explaining that the enemy managed to subdue Steve with drugs powerful enough to overcome the serum (which is true, it’s just not the whole truth), the doctors want blood tests. Steve sits patiently for the vials of blood to be drawn from his arm, and Natasha sits beside making idle small-talk while resisting the urge to gaze too fondly at his warm smile and his tired blue eyes. Steve’s not so subtle, his honest features and ineptitude at lying only aided by his  weariness; he's very clearly enraptured.

The doctors want some scans, but Steve looks dead on his feet, so Natasha politely but firmly tells them no. She leads Steve out of the ward and up to the residence quadrant. “Come on, Rogers, Fury set aside your usual room. He said he’d have some food sent up.”

Steve sighs with anticipation, and leans into her shoulder. They shouldn’t hold hands with their co-workers around to see, but she badly wants to. Instead, she’s forced to wait until they walk all the way to Steve’s reserved room, and the door is shut behind them. Before she can properly take hold of Steve, he’s sinking into a chair by the bed and leaning forward, rubbing his face.

“Steve...?” she follows him, resting her hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He nods. “Yeah. I’m just... Still processing all of it. It just sorta hit me.”

He’s rarely that honest with her. “Come sit with me,” she hooks her arm under his to pull him up and back toward the bed. He follows obediently, sitting where she indicates and watching as she pulls the table laden with food toward them. Then she takes her place beside him and presses her body against his, feeling his power through their contact though he’s the one leaning in for support.

Fury has made sure there’s plenty to feed a hungry super-soldier, and there’s enough there for her to eat too. Steve insists, welcoming her to share from the pile of sandwiches, bananas, and boiled eggs. Famished herself, Natasha happily indulges, washing it all down with sweet, cold water.

Neither of them speaks until Steve lets out a satisfied sigh and swallows his fifth sandwich. “Nat...?”

“Yeah?” he looks over at him. His face is the same, as if he’s stuck it through a hole in a picture.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiles softly, wrapping her hand around his. It’s much larger now, but his fingers are still just as long and gentle.

“I made you make a hard choice,” he squeezes her hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

“Everything turned out,” she reassures. “Don’t stress it, Steve. I made my own choices.” He doesn’t need to know how heavily she was influenced by his pleas. “And in the end, you were right. If we’d left without the serum we might never have found it again, at least not before it ended up in someone else. And if we hadn’t have turned you back right there, we might not have managed it without that machine.”

“Tony would have figured something out,” Steve reasons.

“Probably,” she agrees, “but how long would it have taken for him to build a machine like that?”

“Well, you still kept this between us,” he says. “And that means a lot to me. And  never-mind Stark, you did great.”

“I think you’ve done your time as a science experiment,” she replies, lifting her chin with pride  aat his complement. “Of course, Steve. It worked, right? So as far as anyone else is concerned, that never happened.”

“Actually...” Steve rubs his head. “I thought it might be smart to... tell Bruce? Just to make sure it all, you know... worked right.”

That would indeed be smart. And if anyone would both understand Steve’s predicament but also be capable of performing the necessary tests, it would be Bruce. “That’s smart,” she agrees. “I’ll come with you, if you like.”

“Yeah, I would,” he nods. “I really would. Thanks.”

“You’re my friend,” she smiles and gives his hand another squeeze. “I’m always here.”

“Me too,” he returns her smile with one of his own, a smile that makes him look boyish and innocent and hopeful, as if he weren’t capable of lifting whole vehicles with his bare hands. Those hands hold her with the same gentleness as when he was a third the size, but with a certain firmness she appreciates. His fingers grasp her waist, waiting for confirmation.

She gives it to him, swinging her leg over his hips as he flops onto his back. Natasha plants her hands on his solid shoulders and kisses him, closing her eyes to better enjoy the sensation of his mouth around hers. He tastes the same, feels the same against her tongue, but she can push harder now. After a few moments of simply enjoying her control, he returns the kiss, still holding her by the waist while he threads his other hand through her hair.

When they part, he’s admiring her, flushed with pleasure. He strokes back a strand of her hair and runs his hand down her face. “I almost forgot how red your hair is,” he says. Of course, Steve was color-blind before the serum. “You’re so beautiful...”

Men have used all varieties of lines on her, and she’s had to pretend to be turned on instead of unamused. Steve makes no pretenses, speaks his mind as he always has. The words fall out of his lips as if he can’t contain them inside his head, rather than a manufactured phrase to impress her. She can see in his eyes that he feels that way, that his admiration is genuine.

Of course it is. This is Steve. It feels good to be looked at like that in a way she never expected. Natasha has no words in reply. Her heart thumps as she looks for  _ something _ to say, anything at all, but the words are evading her.

Though inexperienced, Steve’s instincts are good enough to know that now is the time to draw her into another kiss. She lets him take charge this time, curious to see what he’ll do without her guidance, hungry for him to give her himself, even if he’s not the more experienced kisser. He’s doing this for both of them, not to satisfy a lust of his own on the first woman he can get his hands on, but to make her feel good too. God, she feels good... 

He does want this though, and she can feel how much he needs it in the way he holds her with trembling hands. “Steady, soldier,” she murmurs. “You don’t have to make up for seventy years of kisses in one night.”

“Sorry...” he huffs. “You’re just... You’re...”

“There’ll be plenty of time to catch up,” she reassures. “Not that I’m saying we shouldn’t make a good start...” All she wants to do is lay across him and kiss him until she’s too tired to continue.

Steve seems to be headed that way too, pushing himself further onto the bed and turning around so he can get his legs up. He takes her with him, and she lets him man-handle her. When he’s in a better position, she meets him halfway. She’s got a lifetime’s worth of kisses to make up for too.


End file.
